


Call It Anything but Love

by lodgedinmythoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Jealous Steve Rogers, Jealousy, Language, Possessive Steve Rogers, Smut, This kind of Steve is my thing okay, What's a girl to do about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodgedinmythoughts/pseuds/lodgedinmythoughts
Summary: No one would ever assume Steve to be someone to entertain a friends with benefits relationship, but unbeknownst to everyone else, that's exactly what he shares with you. In the bedroom, he's passionate and intense, exhibiting a lustfulness few ever get to see, but outside, he remains his cool and usual self. Things carry on as they've grown to do and you think that's how they'll stay, but then he senses the threat of another man swooping in on his territory, and that is one thing Steve knows he simply won't stand for.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 61
Kudos: 435





	Call It Anything but Love

You cry out in unabashed delight when Steve takes your wrists in his unrelenting grasp and pins them tight to the mattress above your head. You’re completely at his mercy, under his power, and you’re far from the only one to relish it.

Just inches above yours, his lips, lush and swollen from your kisses, tug into a wicked grin. Private, meant just for the two of you. No one would ever guess the stalwart Steve Rogers has this sort of side to him, but you know, and the knowledge makes you dizzy with desire.

His hips snap powerfully against yours, shoving you deeper into the mattress, and you’re unable to contain your moans. He drives you outright wild and evokes in you a vehement passion you’ve never known before. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel such things before him.

His eyes never leave your face. Watching isn’t the word for what he does as he takes you. He devours you with his blue eyes, searing you with his lustful gaze as though he’s peering past the barrier of your skin and right into your soul. It’s like he sees right through you, warts and all, and it’s too much for you to handle. It’s when you’re at your most vulnerable, most prone to saying things you shouldn’t say.

For all that you crave having his undivided focus, you wish he would stop looking at you like that. Like he means to imprint the sight of you trapped beneath him into his brain so permanently he can never think of anything else. Like you’re the only one on this earth who can do this to him. It makes you hot, makes you think of things you’re not willing to think about when it comes to him and the sheer intensity of the feelings he draws out of you. And the worst part is he doesn’t even mean to.

His mouth covers yours with a hot fervor. His motions become less controlled, and after wringing one more climax from you, one that has you clutching his broad body in blind ecstasy, he snaps his hips against yours one last time and lets loose a raw, masculine groan from deep in his throat.

A sheen of sweat covers his body as he holds himself over you, panting in his sated state. His eyes are closed as his thumb strokes your cheek in something strangely close to a caress, and then he’s rolling off and flopping down on the bed next to you.

You’re boneless and lethargic in the best possible way, and all you want to do is shut your eyes and curl up to his warm, hard body. He exudes such virility and safety and security that it’s impossible not to want it, but to do so would err a little too close into dangerous, unfamiliar territory. And that sort of territory is not part of your agreement.

You get up before he does in what’s either a defensive move of self-preservation or perhaps an attempt to get in the figurative last word, or both. He makes no move to get up, but you feel his eyes follow your every move as you disappear into the bathroom to clean up.

When you come back out, he’s still lying there, except this time with one burly arm draped over his eyes and the other across his taut stomach.

“I better get going. Party’s starting soon and I told Bucky I’d be there to help set up,” you say as you pull on your clothes.

He removes his arm from over his eyes just enough to peer at you with one eye. “You did?”

“Yeah. It’s not every day you get to see someone turn the big 103. I told him I’d be there early to help. I’m already a little late as it is.”

“Who else is going to be there?”

“At the party? Just a small group of us.”

“No, to help set up.”

“Oh. Just me, I think.”

“He ask you?”

“What?”

“He ask you to help or did you offer?”

You give him a strange look. “I offered. Why does it matter?”

He drags his gaze away to direct it toward the ceiling, looking annoyed all of a sudden. “It doesn’t. I was just asking.”

“Okay,” you mutter.

You’re pulling on your shoes when Steve finally gets up and saunters away to dispose of the condom. You’re hard-pressed not to sneak glances at the way his athletic figure moves across the room with a relaxed self-possession that says he’s in utter control of himself and his surroundings.

When he emerges from the bathroom still buck naked, you’re fixing up your hair in the mirror.

“You look fine,” he says almost irritably, as though unimpressed by your vanity. He tugs on a fresh set of clothes for himself, and when you grab your bag and head for the bedroom door, he stops you.

“Hold on, not so fast. I’m coming with you.”

“Coming with me?” you echo dumbly.

“Yeah, you know, the verb that means to go somewhere?” He steps over until he’s practically hovering over you and pulls the doorknob from your grip, keeping an arm between you and your escape.

You roll your eyes. “I have to go back to my apartment and change. You should just head over to Bucky’s at the same time as everyone else.”

“He’s my friend, too. If anyone should be there to help, it’s me.”

“What, are you laying claim to Bucky or something? No one else can be friends with him?” Your tone is a mix of amusement and annoyance.

He looks at you head-on, and it’s an unsettling reminder of when he’s inside you and it feels like he’s trying to peer into you a little too deeply.

“Laying claim to him?” He puts a slight emphasis on the word ‘him’ and chuckles softly like he finds the idea amusing. “Not exactly.”

You can’t think straight with him so close. Unwilling to argue and eager to flee his proximity, you place a hand on the arm blocking your escape and push past him. “All right, then let’s go.”

You don’t have to turn to know he’s close behind. You can always feel when he’s around, can feel whenever the weighty force of his regard is turned on you.

Even now, you have no idea how on earth you ended up in such a dynamic with him. Going into it, it was never a conscious decision on either of your parts but a byproduct of your sexual frustration and wild attraction to him. As for him, if you were being honest, you had no idea what drove him to entertain such a relationship with you. You always assumed it was at least for some of the same reasons, if not all.

He’d gotten a strange, almost feral gleam in his eye when you were laughing at one of Tony’s parties before his hand was hooking firmly onto the back of your head and his mouth was suddenly latching onto yours with a pent-up need so strong you could feel it like a bruise on your skin.

The kiss led to a sleepless night in his bed, and then another, and another, and all the while, you never questioned it. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t. Steve was something out of a fever dream, a man you never in your wildest dreams imagined you could ever have. Unreal and, by all rights, unattainable.

So you never allowed yourself to think too deeply about it or else you’d be driven to push him away out of your own insecurities and paranoia about his true motivations. And if you pushed him away, you’d only be ruining something good. Too good to let it get away.

Because no man had ever measured up to Steve, and you feared no man ever would. He’d ruined you for all others. And what was most agonizing of all was that he had no idea.

And even though he’s never hinted at wanting anything more with you, his utter devotion to your pleasure and those penetrating blue eyes as he watches whenever he unknowingly makes you his are more than enough to keep you tethered to him for however long it will last.

If it will last much longer at all.

**. . .**

After following you home, Steve strides into Bucky’s apartment with you at his side. Hunched over on the couch with elbows resting on his knees, Bucky glances up from the worn paperback in his hand and furrows his brow.

“Steve?”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve waits for you to pass by him into the room before he shuts the door.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks.

“Helping her help you.” Steve jerks his head to where you’re setting the cake down on the counter.

“I told her she didn’t even have to come. Not like there’s much to help with.”

“Yeah, I heard she offered.”

You turn briefly to eye Steve at his remark.

“Drinks are in the fridge if you want to take them out,” Bucky tells you.

“You’ve got legs, you know,” Steve says.

“Hey, she’s the one who offered to help.”

You go about laying some of the refreshments out on the table. “How’s the book?”

“Pretty good,” Bucky answers. “I’m almost done. Probably have it back to you the day after next.”

“That’s your book?” Steve asks you, curiosity lining his features.

“Yeah, I lended it to him,” you answer, distracted. “He came over one night and we hung out. He asked to borrow some books before he left.”

“You went over to her place? When?” Steve turns his attention to Bucky, his brows lowered.

“Last week. You were out in Kathmandu on that op.”

Steve considers it to himself while Bucky gets up to help you with the refreshments. When you’re done, you wrap Bucky in a bear hug which he readily returns and peck him on the cheek.

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” you say with a grin.

“Thanks.” He ruffles your hair and you try to swat his hand away playfully.

When you turn, it’s to find Steve standing across the room watching the two of you, his features impassive and unreadable.

Against your will, your stomach flips and a lump of inexplicable dread forms in your gut. You move away to busy yourself with another task, but that look that in all likelihood means nothing at all is somehow now permanently seared into your brain.

After a while, you finish helping Bucky set up and the small gathering of folks slated to attend appears until it’s the three of you in addition to Sam, Natasha, and Wanda. Everyone hangs out in the living room, and you and Steve briefly lock eyes several times before your gazes flicker away.

All is going well and everyone’s having a good time when there’s a knock on the door and everyone turns toward the sound.

“Who’s that?” you ask.

“Lucie, my physical therapist from a while back,” Bucky says as he gets up to let her in. “She kept in touch and I thought I’d invite her.”

You nod, thinking nothing of it. That is, until he returns with a woman wearing a pretty, shy smile at his back.

“This is Lucie.” Bucky jerks his head toward her. “She’s actually decent unlike the rest of you, so try to be nice for once.”

There are overlapping half-insulted responses to that, but you hear none of them when you see the way Steve’s across the couch with his eyes on Lucie, gifting her with a small but friendly smile in typical Steve fashion. And it’s exactly that—typical—but it does nothing to stop the tight, corrosive clenching in your chest at the sight.

And once again, you’re all too reminded.

If and when he decides he’s ready to move on, you’ll have to let go. Because no way in hell are you going to let him into your bed when his heart is with someone else. His heart may not be with you currently, but to your knowledge it’s not with someone else, and the thought has always brought you a marginal amount of comfort.

The only way to protect yourself, you decided sometime ago, is to be the first one to walk away. But you crave him too much, are in way too deep to let him go so soon. And you know you’re not strong enough to nip it in the bud before it grows exponentially into something more than it already is, even if you’re only breaking your own heart in the process.

Of course, luck would have it that the only empty spot on the couch is next to Steve. He still has that little smile on his face when Lucie sits next to him and he greets her and introduces himself.

“Yeah, I-I know,” she says nervously as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She glances around at the group. “I know all of you. I mean, I know who all of you are. I’m sorry, I’m so nervous. I can’t believe I’m here right now.”

There are several chuckles in response and small reassurances tossed her way.

You’re dismayed to find your mood suddenly soured, and it only continues to sour as the evening progresses. Everyone gets up and moves around throughout the night, so Steve isn’t at Lucie’s side the whole time, but every time one of them says something and it catches the other’s attention, you have to look away. And when they clink their beer bottles together, you try to ignore it. He doesn’t pay much attention to you, not any more than usual, at least. And while that normally wouldn’t be a big deal, you can’t help but wonder if the other woman’s presence is the reason for it this time.

Feeling utterly stupid and out of your depth for more reasons than you can count, you leave them as they are and get up for the kitchen. You’re pouring yourself a drink when Bucky walks in and rifles through the fridge.

“Hey, thanks for coming over to help earlier. You didn’t have to,” he says as he pulls out another beer. He deftly uncaps it and comes to stand near you at the counter.

“It’s no big deal,” you say. “I wanted to come early anyway.”

“Wanted me all to yourself for a while?” A barely detectable smile brushes his cheeks and he leans against the counter next to you with one foot crossed over the other.

“Yes. That’s totally it.”

“Knew it.” He takes a pull from his drink. “So when are we doing the cake?”

“In a little bit, I think. You want to do it now?”

“It’s up to you.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who set this thing up. Come on, shake it off.” He pushes himself off the counter and hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you into his side and roughing around in a friendly manner.

“Shake it off?” you repeat.

“This weird thing you got going on. I can sense it from a mile away.”

“What thing?”

“This whole brooding thing. If anyone can tell, it should be me, right?”

You scowl. You hate that you’ve either been so obvious or that he’s so perceptive. “I’m not brooding.”

“Like hell you’re not. So come on, what’s got you down all of a sudden? I need to take someone out?”

“I’m not down, Bucky.” You try to shove him away, but it’s hopeless.

“Hey, what are you doing? It’s my birthday. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?”

You let out an exasperated sigh and fist the front of his t-shirt, tugging him within reach. “I am being nice.” You plant a noisy kiss on his scruffy cheek. “See?”

“What’s going on here?” The deep timbre of Steve’s voice sounds from somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder.

The two of you turn to find Steve standing in the kitchen entryway, a stern look on his face.

“She’s just wishing me a happy birthday,” Bucky says, moving to stand beside you with an arm still wrapped around your shoulder. “And being argumentative about it as per usual.”

“Didn’t you already wish him a happy birthday?” Steve’s attention is on you as he ventures farther into the room.

Your eyebrows knit together. “Is there some limit as to how many times you can wish someone happy birthday or something?”

“When it’s this guy, yeah. You didn’t know him back in the ’40s like I did.” Steve makes no move to hide the way his judging gaze flicks from you to Bucky before he opens the fridge.

“That hurts, Steve. You know what I’ve been through,” Bucky delivers only semi-seriously.

“And I hate that you did.” Steve pulls out another beer before placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, Buck. I mean that sincerely. But I also mean it when I say to get the hell off her right now or you’ll soon find you’re missing another arm.”

You gape at him in astonishment and a laugh bubbles from deep in Bucky’s throat.

“What the hell, Steve?” you blurt out, but Steve’s gaze is fixed firmly on Bucky.

The two men stare at each other in some bizarre showdown and you’re completely lost, but one thing you’re certain of is that you in no way have any desire whatsoever to be some source of contention between them, however nonsensical and unwarranted.

You quickly remove yourself from Bucky’s hold and take Steve’s arm, too preoccupied to even bask in its solid strength as you pull him in the opposite direction.

“Touchy subject, I see now,” Bucky says behind you, but you pay it no attention as you haul Steve out of the kitchen.

When you make it around the corner out of sight from the others, you whirl on him. “What the hell, Steve? What was that?”

“What was what?” His tone is deliberately flat and it only frustrates you more.

“You know what. Why are you going all caveman on me? And with Bucky of all people? You’ve known him forever.”

“Does it bother you?” he asks unflinchingly.

“What?” you ask, still uncomprehending of everything.

“Me going all caveman?”

In truth, it doesn’t bother you. Not at all. A deep, feminine part of you loves it. Relishes it. But what has you torn is the fact that he’s never shown any hint of being territorial before, and he’s doing all this while he’s been buddy-buddy with someone else the whole night.

“Look, that doesn’t matter right now,” you say quickly and quietly so no one else might hear. “But Steve, what we have going on between…us…it’s supposed to be simple, uncomplicated…right?” You hate yourself as you say the words, but you have to believe none of it means anything to him.

“Simple,” he repeats dully.

“Steve, I’m not trying to be an asshole here,” you say earnestly. “But we both know we can’t let anyone else know about this thing going on between us, and if you do this sort of thing, especially with Bucky, people are going to find out.”

He simply looks at you, expression giving nothing away. You long to reach out a hand to his chest to soothe and anchor him to you, but you stifle the overwhelming need at the last second and watch as he turns without another word, leaving you alone in the hallway.

He spends the rest of the night glued to Lucie’s side, and when the others tease him and ask if he got her number at the end of the night, you swallow down the lump in your throat and leave for the kitchen with the excuse of cleaning up, all the while wishing you could take back the last several hours and start all over.

**. . .**

Steve pumps into you from behind at neck-breaking speed, covering your back with his front and panting harshly into your skin. It’s a week later and he’d just returned from a mission overseas when you got his call. He spoke nothing of it when you arrived, simply nailed you to the door without preamble and took what he needed, eventually leading you on a carnal journey all through the apartment.

When it’s over, you collapse on the bed, fighting to catch your breath. Steve hovers over you for a lingering moment before he flops down beside you.

“Mission go sour?” you ask with a hoarse voice, lacking the energy to even look at him.

“You could say that.” His voice is equally hoarse.

You say nothing else but find yourself offering a tentative touch of comfort by resting a hand loosely on his arm. His head turns at the contact and he looks at you.

He’s sporting an endearing case of bed hair and is satisfied for the time being from your latest romp between the sheets, but the curious way he looks at you now makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. Like he’s trying to look too deep again.

You turn away, breaking eye contact but keeping your hand on his arm.

The spell is completely broken when his phone goes off with a notification. With a groan, he reaches over to the nightstand and checks his phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask just because.

His eyebrows furrow, his attention still on the phone, and it takes him a moment to answer. “No one.”

He’s never been a very good liar, but you let it slide. It’s none of your business anyway.

He types something on his phone while you lie there watching him, and while you do, he has no idea how much you ache to simply reach out and snuggle up to him.

When he’s done, he turns off the screen and takes his time setting the phone back on the nightstand. Like he’s stalling for something.

Of its own volition, your heart rate picks up at the almost imperceptible but undeniable shift in the air. His hand rests on his abs, where he taps his fingers in a light but restless motion.

The realization hurts more than it should. You’ve never had to deal with this since you’re typically the first one to decide to leave when it’s his place and it’s mutually agreed upon when he leaves yours. But right now is a first. He’s trying to figure out how to tell you to leave without hurting your feelings. He’s gotten what he needs, and now he doesn’t need you anymore.

He shifts his head to look at you, and once again, it’s like he’s studying you. Like you’re a riddle he’s itching to solve. But between you two, if anyone’s a mystery in need of solving, it’s him.

He turns away to look at the ceiling, and his lips part like he’s about to say something.

You slide off the bed before he can. “I’m going to head out,” you say abruptly before pulling on your clothes.

“What?” He sits up, and the sheet covering him from the waist down does little to conceal his impressive figure, tempting you very much to stay. “You’re going?”

You try to speak around your throat that’s rapidly closing in on itself. “Yeah. I’ve got to…uh, I have to be somewhere.”

“Where?” he asks unapologetically like he has every right to.

“Nowhere. Just—I mean, somewhere.” Your fumbling only makes you seem more suspicious.

He watches as you get dressed, one arm braced on an upright knee. It’s uncomfortably quiet for a while before his low voice rumbles in the silence. “You sure you can’t hang back for a bit? Maybe hang out?”

Your motions falter. You were so sure he wanted you gone, but at his question, your heart reacts violently and you instantly feel like an idiot. But however irrational it may be, you feel you’d come off as an even bigger idiot if you were to change your mind and agree to stay, especially considering your claim that you have somewhere to be.

“I…can’t. Sorry,” you say with a slight wince.

And when you leave, you decide you have to be misreading the subtle dejected look on his face because it’s only a few days later that you see him having lunch with Lucie.

It’s by total accident that you witness them together. There’s a small eatery near Steve’s apartment that you’ve been to once or twice with him, and you decide to make a pitstop for something to go after stopping by his place to drop off his loaned toolbox only to discover that no one was home.

You’re in line when you do a double-take at the somewhat familiar face that catches your eye across the room. It’s Lucie, and she’s smiling again as she chats with the man across from her.

Then your heart freezes solid. Because you’re much, much more familiar with that back of the head of the man sitting across from her.

Steve’s head dips and his shoulders shake lightly like he’s laughing at something she said. The world closes in around you and you feel like you can’t breathe. Just the sight of them together makes you nauseated.

You’re a fool. Such a fool. You should have known it was her who messaged him days before. You should have known it from the unwillingness he displayed in sharing who it was, his restlessness and indecision.

But it was bound to happen eventually. You were never a longterm thing. Just a momentary spark of pleasure, meant to drift away with the changing seasons. But he could at least give you the courtesy of letting it be known that your fling is coming to an end because he’s found someone else.

With a face and skin up in flames, you whirl around and flee before they have a chance to notice. Then after much heart-aching deliberation in the privacy of your room, you bring yourself to hit send on the text.

_Steve, I think we should end this._

Your heart beats like a ferocious beast and you screw your eyes shut, telling yourself it’s the wisest decision and something you should have done long ago.

You don’t get a reply for a couple of minutes, which you expected, but then ten minutes go by, then an hour, and then two. You double-check to make sure you actually sent it, and you wonder if his silence is because he simply hasn’t seen it or if it’s a tacit agreement on his end and he just doesn’t know how to word it.

The dinner Bucky invites you to later that night is a much needed distraction. You sit across from each other at a small booth and enjoy each other’s company. He’s often a man of few words, and you find yourself more appreciative of it than ever. After dinner, you’re not ready to spend the rest of the night alone, so you invite him back to your place to hang out and he readily accepts.

You’re in the middle of a movie and Bucky’s getting snacks from the kitchen when your phone chimes with a text. As though conditioned to fear the sound, your stomach churns violently and for a good while you can’t even bring yourself to peek at the notification.

In truth, it could be anyone, but you don’t want to take the chance that it could be Steve with his anxiously awaited response. But your curiosity is too overpowering and you’re the one who instigated this in the first place, so after a few breaths, you steel yourself and pick up the phone.

_No._

You stare at the screen mutely.

Just one word. No.

You scan your initial text, checking to make sure he didn’t misunderstand. Did he think you were saying something else? Meant something else? But there’s no way he could have misunderstood.

No, he said. No, he didn’t think you should end things with him.

Your thoughts ricochet at a million miles per second but you have no time to agonize over any of it because Bucky soon comes back with his snacks and the phone in your hand is suddenly going off with a call that makes you jump in your seat. And it could only be one name staring back at you on the screen.

In record time, you flick the switch to silent and stash the phone halfway under the throw pillow.

“Who is it?” Bucky asks, half distracted as he resettles himself on the couch.

“Nothing.” You quickly realize ‘no one’ would have been the proper response and not ‘nothing,’ but Bucky gives no outward indication that he noticed.

Steve’s name finally disappears from the screen after what feels like an age, and you feel like you can finally breathe, but then your phone lights up again not two seconds later from where it pokes out underneath the pillow. You stare at it so hard you’re positive you could fry it with your gaze alone, and you heavily consider letting it go to voicemail again, but you have a strong, sinking feeling he’s not going to stop until you answer.

“Hey, I have to take this real quick. Be right back.” You snatch the phone and glance at Bucky, but he simply nods, his eyes fixed on the screen. You hightail it to your room and close the door behind you before answering the phone with a trembling hand.

Then you realize you should have waited a bit before answering because you have absolutely no idea how to form words and you can practically feel Steve’s irate presence on the other end.

After collecting your bearings as best as you can, you take a deep breath and open your mouth to speak. “Hey—”

“What the hell was that message about?” he cuts you off sharply before you can get another word in. He sounds more than annoyed. He’s angry, maybe offended.

Your mouth opens and closes around words that won’t come. “I—Steve, I—”

“I check my phone to see you spouting some type of bullshit and you expect me to be okay with it?”

You’re speechless. You’ve never had Steve speak to you like this before, at least not out of the field.

“Listen,” he says. You hear him suck in a breath like he’s trying to calm himself, and when he speaks next his voice is low-pitched and considerably cooler. “We can talk about this. We don’t have to end it or whatever it is you think you have to do here. We can make this work.”

You give him an incredulous look you so badly wish he could see. “Work? Steve, there’s nothing to make work. We…we’re just friends with benefits, nothing more. In fact, we should’ve never done this in the first place if we had any shred of common sense because these things rarely work out in the end. One person always ends up either loving or hating the other one and I don’t want you to hate me, so that’s why I’m saying we should end this. It’s better for both of us.”

You don’t mention that you’re also ending it because of the visceral punch to the gut you felt when you saw him and Lucie together and that you need to end it before he does in order to protect yourself.

“What? Why would I hate you?” he asks as though the notion is ridiculous.

“I don’t know, Steve, but it happens, okay? These things get messy and if we’re going to continue working on the same team, we need to nip it in the bud before it affects our working relationship, not to mention our friendship.”

“Nip it in the bud?” he asks in a low, dangerous voice. “Is this all this is to you?”

“What? Steve, all I’m saying is we should stop this before it gets to be too much. Look, you’re my friend, and I…I don’t want to lose you like that, okay?”

“Your friend.”

“Well, yeah,” you say. You feel like you’re going crazy. You have no earthly idea what else you can say to make him see reason.

“Where are you?” he asks, sounding determined, like a man on a mission who’s already honed in on his target.

“What? I’m at home.”

“You by yourself?”

“What? No.”

“You got another man there with you?”

Your stomach turns at his possessive tone. “Why does it matter?”

“That a yes?”

“Steve, it’s only Bucky. Bucky’s the one here with me.”

You don’t expect the short, dry laugh that comes from the other end. “Good,” he says, but the way he says it makes you think it’s not good at all.

“What does that mean, ‘good’?”

“It means the fight’ll be more even when I get there.”

Your eyes widen. “Steve, you cannot—”

“Open your door.”

“What?”

“Open your door. I’m coming up.”

“What?” You have to fight to keep your voice down. “You’re here?”

“Been on my way for a while now. I’m almost there. Open up.”

“No. Steve, you cannot be serious. You’re not fighting anyone, you hear me? This is Bucky. What’d you think was going to happen? He’s your best friend. He’s _my_ friend.”

“I’m your friend and you’re sleeping with me.”

“No, I’m—I _was_ sleeping with you.”

“No,” he says unequivocally. “No ‘was.’ Now open up. I’m here.”

“Steve, I swear to God—”

“There won’t be a fight if you just open up. I promise. It was just a figure of speech. Now come on. I’m at your door.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you mutter harshly as you end the call and march back out to the living room where Bucky’s still perched on the couch, watching the movie. “Bucky!”

His head snaps in your direction and the look on his face would almost be comical if it weren’t for the other super soldier about to come busting through the door. “What?”

You waste no time mincing words. “Steve’s here and he’s not happy. I think you need to leave.”

“What? What do you mean he’s not happy? What’s going on?”

“He thinks something’s going on between us and he’s not happy about it. At all.”

You can see him visibly trying to work it out. “So why would he care if there was?” he asks.

You want to throw your hands up in frustration. Of all the times for him to be clueless, of course it’d be now. “Look, it’s a long story and I can’t explain it right now, but I think you should leave so I can handle Steve on my own.”

The moment the words leave your mouth you wonder if instead you should keep Bucky around just to have some sort of barrier between you and Steve. You’re not sure you have the mental and emotional capacity to deal with him right now and this weird state he’s worked himself up into. But more than that, you don’t want Bucky taking the brunt of Steve’s misplaced ire, so you watch as he switches off the movie and quickly escort him out.

“I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you two but leave me out of it, that’s for damn sure,” he mutters as you push him toward the door.

Of course, when you swing the door open, Steve’s there, looking just short of murderous and very, very unhappy. His eyes flick to Bucky and the hand you have plastered to his back in an effort to get him out.

“Bucky,” Steve says calmly, dispassionately, but you know it’s just a facade.

“Bucky was just going.” You press up against Bucky some more to coax him out the door and Steve’s eyes follow the movement keenly.

“All right, all right.” Bucky pries away the hand on his back, keeping your hand in his grip. “I’m going, relax. Maybe you should take that advice, too, Steve.”

Steve stares at him. “Bucky. You know you’re like a brother to me, and it’s because you’re my brother that I’m asking you nicely to take your hand off of my girl.”

Your eyes go wide and Bucky goes from surprised to amused, a quiet laugh spilling from his lips.

“Fucking knew it. Jesus. All right. Relax, man, she’s all yours.”

“Bucky!” you exclaim.

He removes his hand from yours only to wrap an arm around your neck and pull you in to murmur closer to your ear. “Man’s had it bad for you from day one. Do us all a favor and put him out of his misery.”

He pulls back and winks before making his exit, but not without a clap to Steve’s arm as he passes.

Exasperated and fed up, you watch Bucky go if only to delay the inevitable. When Steve’s head dips the slightest bit to catch your eye, demanding all of your attention, you grab him by the wrist and yank him inside.

“You wanted to talk, so talk,” you say once you’re inside, folding your arms.

“First things first. What’s going on between you and Bucky?”

“Seriously, Steve? We already went over this. Nothing is going on between us. We’re friends.”

“And we already went over this. We’re friends and yet you’re sleeping with me.”

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you seriously judging me right now? There are two people involved in this, you know. If you’re judging me, you should judge yourself, too.”

“No. God.” He throws his hands up at his sides like you’re being ridiculous. “I’m not judging you. I know there are two people involved.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t know, all right? I have no idea. If you really want to know the truth, most days I feel like tearing the hair out of my own head, that’s how much I have no idea what I’m doing. You drive me crazy sometimes.”

“Well, welcome to the club.”

He puts his hands on his hips and exhales. “Look, I’m sorry for blowing up at you like that. And at Bucky. You didn’t deserve it. I know I have no right, I know I’m acting like a jealous idiot—”

“Yeah, why?”

“What?”

“Why are you acting like a jealous idiot?”

He searches your eyes, lips pressed firmly together. “Why?”

“Yes. Why?”

You have to hear him say it. If it’s what you’d started to suspect even before Bucky said it, something you’re finally coming to grips with instead of pushing away because it scares and confuses you, you need to hear it from the man himself.

He averts his gaze to the floor, his tongue poking out to wet his lips in consternation. Finally, deliberately, his hooded gaze drags back up to meet yours, pinning you in place.

“Because it makes me want to do things no sane man should think about doing when I even think about the possibility of you with anyone else. You’re not just a friend to me. Never have been. You want to know the complete and honest truth? I see you as mine, always have, and I can’t pretend to be sorry about it. I’m not usually the guy to go around throwing jealous fits when he sees some other guy getting close to his girl, but you make me crazy, you know that? And the worst part is you have no idea. You don’t even mean to.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I’m in a speeding race car headed straight for a wall. There’s no way out for me here. So you got to do something to help me out here because I sure as hell can’t do anything about it. I’m in too deep.”

It’s silent. Completely silent. But you’re almost certain he can hear the force of your breaths and the rush of blood in your veins anyway.

“Babe, please. Say something. You’re killing me here,” Steve says in supplication. He looks almost plaintive and it wrecks you. That’s when you realize you still haven’t said anything.

“Steve…” you begin. His eyes remain glued on yours and he watches your every move as though in your thrall as you carefully approach. “I want to believe you, but…what about Lucie?”

His eyebrows twist together. “Lucie? What about her?”

“I saw you two having lunch. At that place near your apartment. I went by your place to drop off your toolbox and you weren’t home. So I decided to get something to eat and saw you there. She was the one who texted you that one night, wasn’t she?”

The dip between his brows grows more and more pronounced as he tries to work it out before his head shakes vehemently. “What? No. Wait, you think I’m interested in Lucie?”

“Well, you seemed to really hit it off with her at the party. And she was the one who texted you when we were together and then you were having lunch with her. I’m not being unreasonable for coming to this conclusion.”

“What? No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. That wasn’t Lucie that texted me. That was Bucky. He was asking if it was all right for him to give Lucie my number because she apparently asked for it, but I told him no. And meeting her for lunch was completely coincidental. We were both there at the same time and she saw me first and asked if I wanted to sit down with her and I felt it would be rude not to. You really saw that?”

The way you avoid his eyes is answer enough.

“Listen to me,” he says. “There’s never been another girl for me. You’re it. Like it or not, you got me wrapped around your finger. You’ve got me doing things like going out on a limb and saying things I shouldn’t say, considering you probably don’t even feel the same way and I’ve probably just ruined our friendship for good.”

“Steve, you idiot,” you say with a weary sigh. “Of course I feel the same way. Why do you think I care about Lucie in the first place?”

He stares at you. “You do?”

“Yes! I’ve been driving myself crazy with the thought of you growing bored of me and moving on with someone else.”

He shakes his head. “You’re right, you are crazy.”

“Well, you’re no giant help in this either, you know.”

The warm, heavy weight of his hands comes down on your waist as he tugs you closer. He walks backward with you in his arms until he lands on the arm of the couch with you standing between his legs.

“We’ve been wasting so much time,” he says with a tinge of sad regret.

“Then let’s not do it anymore,” you say as your hands stroke the length of his arms and shoulders. One hand strokes up his neck while the other rests against his chest.

He scowls in staunch disapproval at your statement and looks as though he’s about to offer a retort before you cut in. “Waste time, I mean. Let’s not waste any more of it. If you’re in this, then I’m in it, too.”

His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you closer. “I’m in it for the long haul. That’s something you don’t ever have to question when it comes to me and you.”

You nod softly as you caress his jaw, feeling like an entire load has been lifted off your chest now that you’re free to touch him as you’ve always yearned to. “Okay.”

He draws you in and brushes a gentle but firm kiss to your lips that can speak of nothing but a long-lasting wish fulfilled.

“But Steve?”

“Hm?” he hums contentedly against your mouth.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of like the whole caveman routine you’ve been pulling lately. Just don’t overdo it or I might actually have to go to someone else for real.”

His grip on your waist turns deadly. “Don’t push it.”

You laugh softly and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
